Ahead of them, the mountains grew closer and more threatening. Their tops smoked
with windblown snow.
Now and again they had to slow down because of the results of the great
holocaust a hundred years before. Many times the solid road turned into
corrugated ribbons of distorted stone from the effect of the nuking. Bridges
were often down, embankments collapsed.
“Claws an’ teeth.”
Once, with Ches at the helm, face taut with concentration, they maneuvered along
a ledge through an earth-slip, with less than a hand’s span either side. On the
right a wall of glistening gray mud, speckled with fragments of dolomitic
limestone. On the left, a long, long drop to a tumbling river. The Trader was
still spending most of the time in his bunk, his coughing fits audible to
everyone in the war wag. J.B. and Ryan Cawdor shared the leadership of the
party, taking six hours on and six off.
Apart from the Trader’s declining health and Kurt’s raving madness,.the war wag
was running smoothly. Every cog turned as it should, and everyone knew his or
her role. Krysty was wise enough to keep out of the way, offering help when she
could. The only other outsider was the stranger called Doc.
Once they were safely away from Strasser and his murderous sec men, J.B. and
Ryan told Koll to bring the old man to them in the nav room.
“Here he is.” He deposited the shambling wreck at the door.
“Leave him be. Close that door, Koll.”
Doc’s fingers knotted nervously like newborn rattlers. It was the first occasion
that Ryan had been able to find a little time to speak to Doc and Ryan studied
him. There was something about the man…something in addition to his
brain-blasted condition that Ryan could not put a finger on.
“Sit down,” said J.B., motioning to one of the steel-and-canvas chairs.
“I am most obliged, sir. Most obliged.”
“You’re called Doc? And Teague and Strasser treated you like shit.”
“Indeed, I fear that there is considerable truth in that terse observation, Mr—”
“Cawdor. I’m Ryan Cawdor. This here is J. B. Dix, the weapons master on the war
wag.”
Doc made a courtly bow, removing the battered hat from his thinning gray hair,
which hung around his shoulders like an unhealthy growth on rotting meat. His
boots were cracked and worn. The shirt was faded to the palest of yellows and
his coat was torn and smeared with what looked to Ryan like gobbets of pig shit.
Yet, despite all that, the old man had style.
“I’m delighted to make your acquaintances, gentlemen. Forgive me that I’m not
able to show my gratitude in a more positive way, but I am temporarily a little
short of funds, or I would not have hesitated… hesitated to… to seek… I fear…”
His hand went to his brow and he attempted a conciliatory smile. “The words have
somewhat trickled away from me down the culverts of time.”
Ryan stood suddenly, intending to pass Doc a mug of water. But the old man
recoiled, hands flying to cover his face against the blow.
“No, don’t…!”
“Doc, I’m not goin’ to burnin’ hurt you. Chill that kind of idea. This isn’t
Mocsin.”
“Ah, Mocsin. Sweet pearl set in… Do you know what Mr. Teague and Mr. Strasser
made me do if I displeased them in aught?”
“We don’t want to talk about that,” said J.B. “We’re more interested in the
Darks.”
But Doc wasn’t to be sidetracked. Once his mind set off, there was no checking
him. Not until his thoughts reached some blind corner and then lurched into a
siding.
“I was taken to the pigpens. I…I who was once… But I disremember that.” There
was a momentary pause. Then he continued, in the same, deep, rich baritone voice
and the peculiarly old-fashioned way of speaking. “I was stripped and made to
attempt carnal union with our porcine brethren.” A ghost of a smile, revealing
the excellent, strong white teeth. “Perhaps sisterhood is a better turn of
phrase. Only when I had succeeded in such a union was I allowed free once more.
This happened many, oh, so many times.”
J.B. took off his thin-rimmed glasses and busied himself polishing them. If the